


Lessons from childhood

by iiscos



Series: Chapters [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 19:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14775861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iiscos/pseuds/iiscos
Summary: He gripped tightly at his knees, eyes unseeing towards the crackling fire, as he remembered the lessons of his journey—the lessons of devotion, courage, faith, and love.Or the lessons Noctis learned from his four closest friends.





	Lessons from childhood

_i. lessons in devotion_

Noctis was five when he met Ignis. Son of House Scientia, a family of royal retainers to the Crownsguard, Ignis was only one year older but to the young prince, he appeared decades wiser.

Serious, analytic, and studious, Ignis was an old man trapped in a child’s body. He was not interested in action figures, sports, or swordplay, preferring instead reading, culinary arts, and strategy games so convoluted that they made Noct’s head spin.

Ignis was not the kind of best friend any five-year-old would wish for, because his presence served a greater purpose than simple camaraderie, as did every interaction in Noct’s structured life. Ignis was the calm foil to the impetuous prince, the astute advisor to the kind-hearted but imperfect leader whom Noct will grow to become.

Ignis would learn to understand Noctis inside and out, perhaps understand him better than Noct himself, so that he may guide the prince with his best interest _—_ as well as the best interest of Lucis _—_ in mind. To build this kind of immutable rapport, they would only benefit from beginning early.

Noctis and Ignis did not always get along, and Noct did not always love Ignis as a brother. Ignis bested him constantly, in both academics and maturity, in banters and tests of wit, in stratagems and decision making that garnered even the rare approval from the King himself.

And just as he was trained to be, Ignis was endlessly devoted. Even his calmness, empathy, and forgiveness in response to petulant and princely rage evoked both indignation and regret in Noctis at times. But deep down, Noctis knew that he did not deserve a friend _—_ no, a brother _—_ like Ignis, who would follow him to the end of the world without complaint, who swept after his mistakes no matter how frequent or juvenile, who shielded him in the eyes of the Lucis public when every action Noctis took held infinitely unpredictable consequences.

It couldn’t have been an easy job.

Noctis was grateful for Ignis, grateful for his compassion when Regis fell sick, for his shrewdness and strength when Regis died and their world inevitably fell apart, for his thoughtfulness and extravagant cooking that reminded Noctis of home when they could not be farther away. Noctis was grateful for Ignis, but he never managed to express just how much, not until after Ignis had already lost his vision in the wake of the Trial of Leviathan.

“A small price to pay, for the greater battle,” Ignis had said, and Noct was forced to watch helplessly from the side, as the most capable member of his party faltered and bled without the sense he had grown most dependent on.

They took turns driving the Regalia after that, and when night fell, Gladio prepared sad dinners from tin cans by the fire. They ate in silence, but Noctis could feel the cogs turning inside Ignis’s clever mind, constantly working towards a solution, so he may be of use to his now king despite his disability.

Tensions were high as they waded across the thick swamps of Cartanica. Noctis and Gladio bickered endlessly as they hacked through the beasts that guarded the entrance of the royal tomb, so much so that even the legendary patience of Ignis seemed to have reached its limits.

“Let’s be frank,” Ignis said sternly, “My vision hasn’t improved, and probably won’t. Yet in spite of this, I would remain with you all. Til the very end.”

Gladio voiced his doubts, Prompto his concerns, and Noct, as always, remained silent in his hesitation, knowing the weight of his words on Ignis’ decision and the consequences that may be too much for any of them to bear.

“I won’t ask you to slow down,” Ignis insisted, “If I can’t keep up, I will bow out.”

And if anyone could find a solution despite insurmountable odds, it was Ignis Stupeo Scientia, even as the world tumbled to darkness during Noct’s decade of sleep, because Ignis’ world had been dark long before that.

“He hunts too,” Talcott told Noct when they crossed paths on their way to Hammerhead, “We tried to stop him but he wouldn’t listen. He said, if anything, _he’s_ more used to the darkness than we are.”

Arriving at their meeting place, Noctis descended Talcott’s pickup truck and was welcomed by his three loyal friends. Between the jubilant Prompto and the amused Gladio stood Ignis, unseeing eyes glinting with determination behind dark-tinted spectacles.

“Well, well,” he smiled as Noct gripped his shoulder, “You’ve kept us waiting.”

 

 

_ii. lessons in courage_

Noctis was seven when he met Gladiolus, the eldest son of Amicitia, sworn bodyguard and liege to the Crownsguard. Gladio was three years older, blessed by the Astrals with prodigious strength. He boasted an impressive resume _—_ a skilled martial artist at a young age, swordsman and hunter by his teenage years, and an avid outdoorsman all throughout.

Noctis only wanted someone to play video games with.

When Noct finally became of age, the Marshall trained him alongside Gladio, and Noct honestly could not imagine a more unfair sparring partner, or a more infuriating opponent to be constantly beaten down by, than Gladio.

Ignis eventually joined them in training, even if only to pamper the prince’s wounded ego, but they all became fighters together, their bond strengthening as they solidified their friendship and trust.

Gladio prided himself with his brutal honesty and pragmatic advice. Everything about him was rough around the edges, from his iron physique to his battle scars, the jagged edges of a heart whose core bore gold. He held his future king to a high _—_ at times, impossible _—_ standard, which took many years for Noctis to accept it was because Gladio cared.

After Ravus defeated them in Cape Caem, Gladio left briefly only to return with a new scar across his forehead. He never told Noctis how he got it, but Noct would later learn from Cor that it was during the trial of Gilgamesh, because Gladio wished to become stronger, because he feared he was unworthy to protect his exiled king.  

Noct was disbelieving at first, because he had known Gladio all his life, recognized the raw determination in battle-hardened eyes, the immeasurable courage behind immovable strength. It was Gladio’s duty to protect Noctis, as it was Noct’s duty to protect all of Lucis _—_ a duty that Gladio reminded him constantly, even during the darkest and cruelest parts of their journey.

Sometimes, Noct felt that Gladio was too strong, his expectations too high for a wayward king as flawed as Noct. They were on a train out of Tenebrae, and they had just lost Luna _—for fuck’s sake._ Noctis wanted to beg Gladio to please, _please_ just let him be crippled for a moment, to mourn the death of one of his oldest and truest of friends.

But Gladio would not afford Noct even that, gripping firmly around his wrist and pulling him to his feet. “You need to grow up and get over it.”

“I _am_ over it,” Noctis spat back despite the rage and misery souring his throat, “I’m here, aren't I?”

“Luna gave her life for you so you could do your duty,” Gladio gritted harshly, “Not so you could sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Ignis took one for you too, and for what? You think you’re king, but you’re a coward!”

“Shut up!” Noctis shouted, reaching for Gladio’s jacked despite his better judgement, “I get it, alright? I get it!”

“I don’t think you do!”

Noct freed himself before storming off, but not before realizing Ignis’ unseeing eyes and Prompto’s blanketed fear. He may have lost a loved one, but he still had three right in front of him, who needed him to be brave, to pull himself together and carry them through. Gladio was right.

After ten years of darkness, Noctis returned without so much a warning and greeted his friends with a simple _hey_. Gladio, in his amusement, chastised him.

“‘ _Hey?_ ’ That’s all you have to say for yourself _—_ after all this time?”

They pillage their way through the ruins of Insomnia, carved through the packs of daemons that impeded their path. And when the time came to banish darkness from the world, Noctis stepped forward to the throne _,_ held tightly to the trust and courage of his friends, and did not waver.  


 

_iii. lessons in faith_

Noctis was eight when he met Lunafreya. He had just lost his mother to a daemon ambush, and Luna accompanied him as he recovered, sat at the edge of his bed and stroked his hair through his quivers and tears.

Luna was twelve at the time _—_ gentle, beautiful, and kind. She reminded Noct of his mother, the way she whispered her soft reassurances as if to remind Noctis that it was okay for him to be a boy, to grieve over love and loss, to lay open the savage wound in his heart that he must carry for an eternity.

Luna was born into the lineage of Oracles, blessed by the Astral gods to bridge the human and the divine. Noctis was born into the lineage Lucian, prophesied to purge the plague of darkness from the world. It was their fate to join arms, so that light may return once more.

“I’ll do it,” Noctis had promised Luna, “I’ll do it for you.”

When Niflheim invaded Tenebrae, Luna chose to stay. Noctis thought she was insane because she would surely suffer, she would surely die, and Noctis would surely lose her. But Luna chose to stay, even as she watched her mother perish at the hands of imperial forces, because her mother was the last Oracle of Tenebrae, and her divine duty now fell to Luna, to keep the Starscorge from destroying everything they know.

Luna was appointed the youngest Oracle at sixteen, the same year she became Noctis’ betrothed. They had not met since their youth but communicated in secret through Umbra who carried countless messages between them that held their fears, hopes, and love. It was Luna who guided Prompto to Noct during the volatile years of his youth, during which Noctis needed friendship the most, and perhaps, deserved friendship the least.

Noctis loved Luna _—_ as a sister and as a friend. He would learn to love Luna as his Queen and strive to be a good leader and a better man, for her. And even after she had passed, Noct felt as if she never truly left _—_ the faint scent of sylleblossoms always lingering as he emerged from the realm of dreams each night.

“You are the one, Noctis,” Luna said kindly, “The stars shine for you now.”

Noctis, in the frail mind and body of a boy in his dreams, wept. “It’s not right. All I ever wanted _—_ was to save you!”

“When the world falls down around you, and hope is lost, when you find yourself alone amid a lightless world, look to the distance. Know that I am there, and that I watch over you always.”

Noctis continued in his mission, emboldened by the spirit of Luna whenever the journey felt too difficult to continue. He sensed her determination has Shiva descended with her kisses of winter that freed him from his taunting visions. He echoed her unspeakable sorrow as the husk of Ravus stood before them, pleading with ragged breaths to _end this_ as darkness devoured the remains of his soul. Umbra laid by his side the moment he returned from his decade of sleep, promptly holding the whereabouts of his friends and instructions for their next steps.

Luna held faith in the gods, in Noctis, in the prophecy that foretold the banishment of darkness and the return of light. Luna held faith that her sacrifice would save Noctis, even if just long enough so he could save the rest of the world.

Noctis refused to fail, refused to fathom the possibility that Luna died for naught. He was only eight when he promised Luna that he would fulfill the prophecy, but to _hell_ did he know what that meant back then. But watching Luna fade before him, consumed by the life force of the Astrals, and watching his friends as he left them behind, their promises to live still lingering on their lips _—_ those were the hardest things Noctis could ever imagine of doing.

“Prompto. Gladio. Ignis. I leave it to you. Walk tall...my friends.”

 

  
_iv. lessons in love_

Noctis was fifteen when he met Prompto, the second time at least, when Prompto ditched his spectacles and shaken off his baby fat, finally mustering the courage to introduce himself properly.

If Ignis and Gladio were older brothers to Noctis, and Luna an older sister, Prompto was his younger brother. If Noctis depended on Ignis for his wisdom, Gladio for his strength, and Luna for her compassion, Prompto depended on Noctis for their friendship. Prompto was not assigned to Noct for his protection, service, or preparations to become king. Noctis welcomed Prompto into his life all on his own. Prompto’s loyalty belonged only to him.

Common-born, orphaned, and alone, Prompto had nothing, and Noctis wanted to give him _everything_.

Their first kiss was beneath the staircase of their high school _—_ frantic, needy, and desperate _—_ as Noct pinned Prompto against the wall of a hidden corner, devouring his lips, his breaths, his freckled skin _,_ anything and everything he could reach.

Their first fuck was in the back of the Regalia that Noct borrowed under the pretense of going to the cinema. They parked in a clearing on the border of the Crown City, beneath the shadowed bough of a large ash tree, a small sanctuary hidden from the scrutiny of the tireless media. The midsummer night was thick and hot, but the air conditioner blasted cool air that chilled the sweat on Noct’s skin. He trailed kisses from Prompto’s neck to his chest, feeling the furious thumping of Prompto’s heart beneath flushed, pale skin.

Prompto keened sweetly beneath him out of both fear and desire, pain and pleasure, desperation and breathless, exuberant joy. Noct whispered without thought against the shell of his ear, rocking wildly against Prompto until release washed over them both in undulating waves.

Prompto was Noctis’ first. They were each other’s firsts. But Prompto also kissed girls, also fucked girls, and Noctis could only watch from afar, powerless and bitter as Prompto lived out parts of his life that he could never share with Noct.

Noct could not ask Prompto for more, because Noct himself could not offer more, despite how much at times he wished he could. Prompto remained unknowing and unfazed, ambling through life with laughter on his lips and unadulterated admiration in his eyes, because he had always been grateful for Noctis’s mere presence, for whatever he could get from the prince. Beggars could not be choosers, after all.

But Noct was different from Prompto. Noct was demanding, selfish, _insatiable_ . Prompto belonged to him _—_ completely and devotedly _—_ and at the same time, he could never be his, the way Noct needed him to be.

And it _killed_ Noct to admit that to himself.

After his political marriage, his rise to kingship by birthright, and his inevitable duty to continue the Lucian bloodline, Noctis would not love Prompto the same way again. Before beginning their journey to Altissa, never before had Noct truly fathomed the gravity of losing Prompto in any way.

They held onto their clandestine kisses as they traversed Lucis. They wove their hands by the gear shift of the Regalia when Ignis and Gladio drifted to sleep behind them. They pressed together their thighs as they traveled by train and playfully nudged their feet against one another’s beneath the tables of cable-car cafes.

These were risks worth taking, so that Noct could savor the glimmers of laughter in Prompto’s eyes, even as he prayed to the Astrals that it was not actually Gladio’s leg that he was unknowingly offending with his socked toe. The exhilaration of secrecy, the tragedy of forbidden love _—_ Noctis found them almost as addicting as Prompto himself.

And when Prompto was taken from him, Noct felt as if his heart threatened to encase in ice, as desolate and lifeless as Shiva’s resting place outside Gralea. Weaponless, alone, and taunted by a madman, Noctis bundled through the haunted laboratory beneath the ruins of Niflheim, chasing after ghosts of Prompto and plunging himself into obvious traps for the slightest chance that _this_ Prompto might be real.

“Your heart’s desire is so close now,” rasped the infuriating, phantom sneer from the intercom, “Soon it will be within your grasp.”

When he finally found Prompto _—_ bloodied and battered and bound in chains _—_ Noctis wanted to weep, first out of relief that Prompto would be alright, and then out of sheer incredulity that Prompto, _his_ Prompto, could ever question his worth to Noctis.

“Tell me. Were you worried about me?” Prompto asked slowly as bleary eyes finally came into focus.

“Of course I was. What kind of question is that?”

“Of course,” Prompto exhaled a weak laugh, “That’s why you came, like I believed you would. That’s why I told myself I couldn’t die. Not until I could see you and hear you tell me I’m not a fake _—_ that I’m the real me.”

He learned that Prompto was born out of darkness, designed to be the perfect soldier, an MT _._ Only the cruel irony of fate would allow Prompto to unknowingly befriend, accompany, and love the prince of the kingdom he was created to destroy. But to _hell_ was Noctis giving a damn about any of it now.

He was happy just to have Prompto back, even for a fleeting moment before the Crystal lulled him into a decade long sleep. And he was happy to see Prompto again, even if a wiry man of thirty stood in the place of the bright-eyed boy of twenty, whom Noct loved deeply and irrevocably _—_ a living reminder of the decade stolen from their youth.

And soon, they would lose what remains of a lifetime.

Noctis did it because of love _—_ the same love for which Luna died to release the power of his bloodline, the same love which he carried bravely as he walked into the Crystal to relinquish his own soul. He did it out of love, so that what was left of his friends _—his family—_ could live on and rebuild from the rubbles of misery, death, and war.

They sat around a campfire the night before entering Insomnia, Noctis before his three most loyal friends. He gripped tightly at his knees, eyes unseeing towards the crackling fire, as he remembered the lessons of his journey _—_ the lessons of devotion, courage, faith, and love.  

“So I...I’ve made my peace,” he managed despite the quiver in his throat, the profound ache in his heart, “Still...Knowing this is it, and seeing you here now, it’s...more than I can take.”

Gladio exhaled heavily. Ignis bowed his head. Prompto slumped in his chair, hands buried in his wild blonde hair and hiding his own misery. Noctis stood, vision blurred from tears and fire.

“What can I say? You guys...are the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> i desperately need a canon compatible fix-it fic (like FFX-2 or something)
> 
> and i also only played the pocket version of FFXV on android. if i played the full thing, i think i will surely die. 
> 
> thank you for reading. it’s my first fic tackling the FFXV-verse so i hope i did alright. Feedback is greatly appreciated <3


End file.
